The Dangers of Ladders
by Cordelia McGonagall
Summary: This was written for the "Alas, Earwax" Power Match of the Teachers' Lounge Ultimate Iron Fic Challenge. I face littlebirds, whose story "Rid of Me" is either one of your favorites too, or it's what you should be doing with your evening. Credit to JKR for all.


The Dangers of Ladders

Draco paced the Oriental rug as generations of Malfoys had done before, and he kept to their path, the line of beige warp and weft revealing where the silk pile had thinned. He stopped before the fire that was barely keeping ahead of the creeping damp of February. He stood, his chest forward and chin raised, as he had seen his father stand here once, as the peacocks stood, preening on the grounds.

He filled his lungs with the stabilizing air of the study which held memories of sweet pipe smoke lingering in the insulation of books and leather furnishings. The room was his, a symbol of the tradition of the Malfoys and the mantle of duty which it entailed.

A month ago, after a sandwich of cold funeral meats, Draco had unlocked the desk drawers with shaking fingers. With a click of a silver key, he'd assumed the deeds and ledgers - the jewels of the Malfoy estate - fitted in the tarnished crown of the heir, a crown a little less showy perhaps, but still valuable, and still for his head alone.

He felt the weight immediately. His father, in his feverish orthodoxy, had bargained away the heft of gravitas for the burden of penance. Draco had fashioned it into a wearable noblesse oblige, documented with an appropriate, thoughtful humility by paper and wireless.

Skeeter's favorite wine was a Pinot Gris, surprisingly palatable for a Muggle bottle from America.

Granger would probably not be as easy.

However, she'd surely be less flirty, a rare blessing.

He shrugged back his sleeve to check the time, and remembered he'd stopped wearing his watch a fortnight ago, for there was no need to be punctual when the meetings began at his arrival. _However_ , Draco sighed, _it wouldn't do to be late at the Ministry._ He remembered how useful it was for his father to help Fudge file a parchment. The meeting with Granger, perversely, signaled importance. Clearly, he'd paid whatever debts they'd settled on him after the War. He braced himself to be patient with her fluster. Tolerance would buy him goodwill.

He slid his document into his portfolio, the unicorn hide buffed to a shine by his forefathers. He was pleased to see that Flourish and Blotts had been able to remove the dried drops of Burbage's blood from the front cover. Removing all trace of it only cost him two Galleons and one vague lie.

Now he'd really be late if Ministry security were still as tedious as they'd been at his first visit after the funeral, all list-checking and goggling at his arm. He picked up his portfolio, scooped a powdery handful from the silver Floo urn, and left for the Ministry, the scent of his study still clinging to his cloak.

He found the office easily enough, _Ms. Hermione Granger, Assistant Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ engraved on the fresh door plaque. He ignored the two wizards occupying chairs in the hallway, and strode into the office, where he stopped and looked quizzically at a woman who was not, as the sign promised, Granger.

She blinked at him. "May I help you?" she said, in a chilly tone.

"Malfoy. I've..."

She cut him off with her quill. "Chairs in the hall. Very busy day."

He stared at her.

The woman resumed her rapid writing, the scratch of her quill covering the lack of footsteps. She finished a paragraph and seemed to notice that she'd not heard the click of the door. She raised her head and spoke, quietly, slowly, as though he were one warning from losing pudding.

"If you would sit in the hallway, Ms. Granger will be with you when she is available." She resumed her writing.

Draco scowled at the top of her head and strolled out. He sat in the farthest chair, and rubbed his thumb down a swirl on the portfolio, letting his mind wander through the history it had contained, charters for American shores, deeds to houses buried under layers of pavement. He lost himself, but for how long exactly he didn't know, as his watch was tucked into its mahogany valet at home.

A witch tottered to a water cooler opposite him and filled a white paper cone. _D_ _isposable troughs. What will Mudbloods think of next?_ The tank displaced a large bubble of air, and in that moment, Draco realized he needed the toilet.

He squeezed his eyes closed in annoyance at the witch, the wait, his bladder, the Ministry, and the outcome of the War, but he soothed himself by thinking that perhaps Granger would have to wait on him.

He returned several minutes later to find the woman and the wizard next to her gone. The wizard left looked at him mournfully through overgrown eyebrows.

"Missed your spot in the queue," he wheezed. "If you'd stayed gone, I'd have been next."

Draco frowned. "Queue! I've an appointment!"

The wizard gave a gap-toothed grin. "You've a queue. Of two." He chuckled at his singsong rhyme and returned to his _Prophet._

Draco huffed, too unsettled to respond. Just then, the door opened, and the wizard who had been in the hall earlier exited. The secretary, who seemed cheered by skipping over Draco, nodded him in.

The interior door was open, and Draco didn't knock for permission to enter. Hermione Granger was centered behind a desk as massive as the one in his study, her slight figure framed by books. Her desk was immaculate; a stack of parchment to her right was topped by a heavy tiara. Draco thoughts were pulled back to the diadem, and he scowled at the sweat condensing under his palms. He squared his shoulders and centered the portfolio in front of him.

"Good afternoon... _Ms. Granger_."

"Oh, hullo, Draco. Sit down, please." Hermione waved him in without looking up. Her secretary swept in.

"Tea?" she asked.

Draco smiled at this flicker of normalcy. "One sugar."

He settled back into his chair and examined the bookshelves, but turned when he didn't hear footsteps. He belatedly joined the silent conversation between Hermione and her secretary, the latter's wide-eyed look met with amusement from his former classmate behind the desk.

Hermione's shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Daisy. It would be very kind of you to bring us, ah, both some tea. I missed lunch again, didn't I? Promise me you will tell me if this makes more work - don't you work through lunch."

Daisy leaned her hip on the door frame and waved this off. "I told you it wasn't your job to cover for Andrews."

Hermione leaned over to fiddle with the tiara. "Yes, but it's the decent thing, really. It isn't difficult; just paper pushing, but he does do a beautiful job triaging for me. It's the least I could do. The Healer warned him dragon pox is a long road. I don't mind."

"Well, as long as you don't look puffy for the photographer." Daisy flicked her wand at the appointment book on the desk, and the ink-filled pages blurred as they fanned.

"Oh, Daisy, it will be fine. I don't understand why I need engagement photographs for the _Prophet_ , of all things. Who besides us cares, really? Who reads that rag? I can't believe I'm rescheduling the Germans for it."

While Draco was waiting for Hermione to dismiss her secretary, he examined Hermione's face. She'd been practicing glamour charms. He wasn't sure what part might be puffy at the end of the work day - provided he wasn't moved to hex her. He took a calming breath which came out as a huff.

Hermione looked at him as though she'd forgotten he was there. Daisy peeled herself from the doorway, rolled her eyes, and disappeared. _She really doesn't have any control of her staff. Figures._

Hermione pulled a parchment from under the tiara. She put her hand over it and looked up at Draco, who'd been studying her. Her hair reminded him of the Yule Ball. _Had she always had_ _freckles on her nose?_

She leaned back in the leather chair and rested her elbows on the arms, placing the steeple of her fingers against her lips. He moved to copy her pose, but the wood of the chair corrected his spine. She ignored his awkward jerk.

"I am sorry for your loss," Hermione said.

Draco clutched at the portfolio. He was supposed to look sad. He never was. He stretched, crossing his legs, holding his right ankle with his hand, casually drying it with his sock. _Why are my hands sweating?_ "Thank you. I've assumed the estate. That is why I am here." He tilted his chin up.

Hermione's thoughtful expression reconfigured into a troubling smile. "Well, then. Down to business, Mr. Malfoy," Draco struggled to keep his face neutral.

"Congratulations on your promotion."

Hermione looked at him again with mirth, but there was something else working its way around her eyes. Her mouth pulled a tight line.

"Okay, Draco. What can we do for you today?" She held out her hand, and Draco lifted his to shake hers, until he saw her palm was open. He cleared his throat and pulled the paper from his portfolio. He noticed, with mortification, that he'd left damp palm prints on the leather.

Hermione kept her eyes on the paper. He began an explanation of its complexities, but she cut him off as she tapped the parchment with her wand.

"Seems simple enough, really. The board of directors needs verification of the dismissal of your criminal charges to move forward with the deal? You see Andrews about these sorts of things, yes?"

"Well, yes, last time, but this one..."

"Here." Hermione pushed the paper to her desk with her wand, and slid it across to him. He scanned it, and saw that she'd left an embossed Ministry emblem in the corner of the parchment.

"That's..." Draco struggled to convey his skepticism.

"It? Not just yet." Hermione was distracted by Daisy returning with a tea tray, which she levitated gently down to the desk in front of Hermione. It held a china tea set. There were two silver teaspoons and a pair of sugar tongs, a plate with biscuits, and a plate with a half of a cheese sandwich. Standing awkwardly to the side of the set was a paper cup with a tag limply hanging from the plastic lid. Hermione plucked the paper cup first from the tray and planted it in front of Draco. She poured Daisy a cup of tea before she took the sandwich for herself.

"Daisy, you are a lifesaver. I'm buying drinks Friday." She grinned at Daisy and blinked at Draco, and then stared pointedly at his paper cup.

"Thank you," he muttered, turning his head just enough to acknowledge Daisy's presence.

Daisy shook her head at him. "You are welcome." She turned quickly back to Hermione, her cloudy face lighting up. "Is Ron bringing Seamus again? He's beautiful."

Hermione hit the desk with her palm. "Seamus just broke it off with that broom engineer. Ursula? I'll tell Ron to bring him."

"Oooh," Daisy giggled. "Do you think I should wear that skirt?"

"The one we found at Twilfitt's? Mmm." Hermione took a bite from her sandwich, and held up a finger while she chewed and swallowed. "Definitely the black one. Send Mr. Jenkins in, if you would?"

Hermione waved Draco away. "I'm leaving, so you need to get a copy of this filed in the archives. One floor down to the right of the lift. They will give you a receipt for our records, so bring it back and give it to Ms. Bloxham. Archives closes in twenty minutes, so hurry."

"What? I have to...you can't just..."

"I can do lots of things, Draco. Hermione said with a smirk. I'll delegate this to you."

Draco swallowed the slur bubbling in his throat. He rose and exhaled, "Lowliness is young ambition's ladder..."

He heard a snort behind him and turned to Hermione who was grinning broadly as she recited, "And therefore think him as a serpent's egg, which hatched, would as his kind grow mischievous - and kill him in the shell." She clapped happily and leaned back again in her chair. "It's been too long, Draco. Don't be a stranger."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut for a second and then swept from the office. The queues at the archives were long. Several minutes passed before he reached the clerk, who looked at his document and pointed him to the back of the longer queue forming behind a second desk. He remembered coming to the Ministry with his father, when queues would dissolve in deference. To calm himself, he looked at his portfolio, scanning the list of tasks he'd assigned for next week. He was pleased to see that none of them involved coming here. He should make time to hire an assistant.

* * *

Lights were shutting off in offices down the hall to Hermione's, but the door to her reception was open. He didn't see her secretary, but Draco could hear voices bubbling from behind herdoor, which was cracked open. Out of habit, he hesitated before entering.

He could hear Hermione's voice. "Bloody ridiculous. She shipped this mudguard of a tiara here, because she thinks Notting Hill is too gritty for an owl. But she likes me more than she does Ron, so that's a treat."

"Lucky you," her secretary said. "That bloke who was in here earlier - Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, his arrogance tinted with a relief he couldn't admit. _Of course I am still recognized. The name is mine to mould._

"Yes, we were classmates. Haven't seen him since the trials. Had to force myself not to stare at his thinning hair."

Draco's mouth fell open slightly.

"Wonder if he has a girlfriend." Daisy said.

Draco leaned in slightly, remembering Daisy's bum as he'd followed her. It might be useful to have a girlfriend working at the Ministry.

"Offering yourself up?" Hermione asked.

"Merlin, no. I only asked because she should know he's cheating on her with that manky leather folder he was...massaging. Indecent. I bit my cheek to stop laughing. He'd better do the honest thing by it and propose."

Draco heard a tumble of laughter. He blinked and pulled his paperwork from his case. He turned and quietly placed the receipt on Daisy's desk, and nearly ran to the lift, only stopping to slam his portfolio into the rubbish bin piled with paper cups.


End file.
